


am I more than you bargained for yet

by kairiolette



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kairiolette/pseuds/kairiolette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Sunday morning in early fall when Sousuke pays Haru an unplanned visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	am I more than you bargained for yet

**Author's Note:**

> fyi, this is heavily based on fandom speculation that involves Sousuke having a pretty serious shoulder issue.

Sunday morning greets Haru with a sullen Sousuke standing before his front door, as pouty and sheepish as a dog who ran away, knew it did bad, and trudged its way back home with its tail between its legs. Haru, clad in an apron, a pajama shirt, and his boxer shorts, all whilst gripping his clean spatula, had not been expecting company, not at this hour, but without even a questioning glance he steps aside and allows Sousuke in.

Sousuke remains jarringly quiet and Haru can tell by the exhaustion in his eyes, the downward pull of his lips, that he is closed for questions, though hundreds brim over the lid in Haru’s mind. Haru doesn’t ask them, not yet. He motions for Sousuke to have a seat on the floor at his table.

“Would you like anything to eat?” he asks instead—he’s still holding his spatula, after all—watching Sousuke settle himself with little difficulty, rubbing his left shoulder with his right hand; a habit Haru recognizes. He makes a face like he wants to decline Haru’s offer, then thinks better of it.

“Please,” he responds, and then his face lifts in a weary smile, “Mackerel sounds perfect right now.”

That’s always something Haru likes to hear, so he turns back into his kitchen with a small smile of his own, content to add more fish to his grill. His company troubles him, still—why is Sousuke here unannounced? why is he upset?—but maybe it’s too early for Haru to be asking even himself these questions.  The sizzling of their breakfast on the burner bounces off every nearby surface; the constant noise reminds Haru of cicadas, who are dwindling in volume as summer fades into fall. It lulls Haru back into sleepiness, so he busies himself making tea before his eyelids can droop.

When Haru brings both of their plates over on a tray, Sousuke brightens, eyes eager, no longer quite as brooding. He even smirks, the upward curve of his lips somehow transforming his entire face and aura—Haru doesn’t know what is amusing Sousuke, but he’s glad to see it at least made him marginally less troubled. It must be the mackerel, Haru figures.

“Sorry, I should have offered to help,” Sousuke says, remorseless, as Haru places his full plate before him. The look he exchanges with Haru says he’s all too glad to get a meal out of him, free of charge. Haru remains unimpressed, taking his seat opposite Sousuke, tucking his legs underneath him, also eager to dig in.

They eat in relative silence; a breeze drifting through the window Haru had cracked open makes more noise than them, makes Haru tug his sleeves over his hands. He sneaks curious glances over at Sousuke between bites; he has already eaten a lot more a lot faster than Haru, like he had been starving before he came. A thread of worry coils itself around Haru’s thoughts.

“I didn’t eat before I came here,” Sousuke explains, catching Haru’s curiosity by the tail. Sousuke then casts his gaze downward, places his utensils on his empty plate, his smirk turning sour before Haru’s eyes. It sounds like a humiliating admission, a dirty secret, when he says,  “I came straight from physical therapy.”

He barely spares another look at Haru, who pauses while eating. Haru hopes a floodgate had just been opened, at the very least an elaboration, but Sousuke says no more, fiddles with the cloth on the table instead. He knows some grand revealing would just never happen— Sousuke’s hard to crack when it comes to this, as unreadable to most as Haru himself.

_Maybe that’s why this works,_  Haru thinks, because it does,  _they_  do, for whatever reason. He snaps his mouth shut, like a cartoon character whose jaw dropped, placing his utensils on his near-empty plate as well. He moves to stand, silently collecting his and Sousuke’s dishes to bring into the kitchen, and hurries back as quickly as he can, afraid that Sousuke will try to excuse himself now that he has eaten, confessed.  

But when he returns, Sousuke smiles up at him from where he sits, cross-legged with his palms pressed to the floor for support, looking well-fed and, most of all, somewhat unburdened. Haru wonders if he feels any pain in this moment, physical or otherwise; wonders if he’s hiding it behind his composure.

Sousuke, wordless, cocks his head in a “come here” motion to Haru; Haru realizes he had been just standing before the table, staring. He moves as if pulled by a string, sitting on the floor beside Sousuke this time instead of across from him, but he frowns at the crude way he had been beckoned. Sousuke still seems strangely amused by something—probably Haru’s pout—and strangely mischievous with his small smile and teasing glances. Although still subdued, it’s a better look than he had standing before Haru’s door, not a half-hour prior.

“Thanks for the meal,” he says as he cups Haru’s face, large palm flush against Haru’s cheek, fingertips tangling in his still-damp hair. He gently turns Haru’s head to face him more, his heavy gaze inciting a bloom of warmth beneath Haru’s skin. Haru shifts his face into Sousuke’s palm until his lips brush the skin there.

“You had therapy this early?” Haru asks, his eyes helplessly flickering from Sousuke’s face to his left shoulder. The possibility that Sousuke may be in pain in this tender moment fills Haru with fretful dismay. Sousuke nods, moving his hand back from Haru’s face so he can roll his injured shoulder back in a practiced motion. He doesn’t grimace, Haru wonders if he wants to.

“Yeah,” he responds with a shrug of the other shoulder, “I like to get them over with.”

Haru hums, trying to understand.

“How was it today?” he asks, unable to stop the questions once he started, curiosity and concern gripping hold.

Sousuke shrugs, absently rubbing his shoulder again. Haru interrupts the habit, reaches to still his hand and replace it with his own smaller one, palm face down. He presses gently.

“It-uh, it was fine. The usual. Stretches, laser therapy, the works,” he replies, his smile forced, changing the subject just as forced, “Get over here already, would you?”

He pulls Haru’s wrist away from his shoulder, tugging sharply twice and nearly sprawling Haru over his lap. Haru scowls at him, Sousuke’s smile in return is considerably less fake than before.  Haru, despite himself, swings a leg over Sousuke’s lap, sitting carefully back on Sousuke’s calves where they’re crossed. Sousuke watches him settle, both hands rise like he doesn’t know where to put them but he knows they should go somewhere on Haru. He drags his gaze down the length of Haru’s body, and back up again, and smugly grins as he finally settles his palms against the outside of each of his thighs. Goosebumps form on Haru’s bare skin around Sousuke’s warm touch. This close, Haru unabashedly examines Sousuke’s shoulder, broad and seemingly just-fine under the tight stretch of a dark tee.

“Does it hurt to touch?” Haru asks, quiet; if he asks too sudden, too loud, Sousuke might clam up. To think, Haru can’t get Sousuke to shut up about any other topic in the world. Sousuke’s hands just absently slide up and down his thighs, leaving warmth in their wake and making Haru want to press in closer.

“Not if the touch is light,” Sousuke finally replies, and Haru can hear and feel his playful grin; he doesn’t have to look. Haru ignores his distracting face, dips in close to Sousuke’s shoulder to press a careful kiss against the cloth, one he’s not so sure Sousuke can even feel. Sousuke’s breath hitches, a sharper audible inhale, he grips the soft flesh of Haru’s thigh tightly before releasing. Haru smiles at the reaction, presses a kiss just as soft on the side of Sousuke’s neck, presses back against Sousuke’s hands. Sousuke sighs against Haru’s ear, deafening in the silent room, and he tugs Haru closer to his chest.

“You know, I’ve got it good,” Sousuke starts, voice low, commanding attention that Haru is willing to give. Haru’s hands drift up to hold Sousuke’s face, memorizing the shifting of his jaw as he speaks, “There’s a little girl who goes at the same time at me, every Sunday. She’s in a wheelchair.”

Haru suddenly understands— _maybe that’s why this works_ —and Sousuke’s lips twist coldly, his face otherwise blank. But it’s all an ounce clearer to Haru, now that Sousuke has managed to convey more than a syllable to him about it; why Sousuke can be tactlessly straightforward about everything else in life but this one thing. Haru runs his hand back through Sousuke’s hair, traces a thick eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. His fingertips drag gently over a corner of his downturned lips, and Sousuke turns his face to them in a whisper of a kiss.

“She probably even smiles more than you,” Haru says, biting his lip. He still holds Sousuke’s face when a laugh is shocked out of him. He feels warm; he caused that.

“You’re one to talk,” Sousuke says, and he drags Haru closer by his thighs, aggressive as always. Their hips press together, finally making satisfying contact even through layers of clothes. Haru’s thighs clench around Sousuke’s waist, and then Sousuke’s hands settle at the small of his back, urging him forward. Haru kisses his shoulder again, lingers there.

“You think that’ll make it better?” Sousuke asks, mouth by Haru’s ear, and Haru shivers, pulls back to see his face. There’s still something bitter in Sousuke’s eyes, like an aftertaste, and Haru doesn’t really think he can kiss anything better, at least not today.

He does try, though, or maybe it’s his own greed, his own lust that has him grabbing Sousuke’s face again, cradling his strong jaw and tipping his chin upward. Sliding his knees further apart where they dig into the floor so his weight rests firmer on Sousuke’s lap. Sousuke’s eyes slip shut, vulnerable, but he’s still smiling when Haru kisses him.

Leading Sousuke in a kiss, Haru has learned, only lasts so long, and that might exasperate Haru—as he opens his mouth against Sousuke’s, drags his lower lip between his own and sucks; how could he want this dynamic to change in any way—but he also really doesn’t mind it at all—a hand then comes up to grip his chin, not rough but firm, while the other slides down to his ass, gripping it and pressing him forward and down against Sousuke’s body, ripping a low whine from Haru’s mouth that Sousuke swallows. Haru, refreshed after a good night’s sleep, a bath, and breakfast, is so quick to arouse that he feels Sousuke grin, self-satisfied, into their kiss. Haru lets him have it, though. He arches his back into the contact, against the pressure of Sousuke’s hand, rolling his hips against Sousuke’s in a shallow rhythm, while Sousuke holds his head still and licks into his mouth.

Haru gasps when they break apart, he lets Sousuke kiss down his neck, nip at his heaving chest as he tugs the collar of Haru’s shirt down with a finger. Overcome by a blitz of sensations, by Sousuke’s other hand sneaking up his shirt, Haru lets his burning cheek fall against Sousuke’s shoulder, carefully, and grips two fistfuls of Sousuke’s shirt to anchor himself. Sousuke turns his face to Haru, nosing against his neck as he grabs Haru’s bare waist with both hands.

 “Does it hurt now?” Haru asks of the very shoulder he rests on, trying not to sound winded as he runs his open hand up and down over Sousuke’s shoulder blade.

 “Yes,” Sousuke replies, squeezing Haru and holding him down so they meet where they’re both straining against their clothes, and he jerks his hips upward. “We’re talking about my dick, right?”

Haru considers prolonging the conversation, or rolling his eyes so hard they get stuck, but Sousuke keeps moving like he wants to be inside Haru, and it’s all too distracting. Haru holds Sousuke as tight as he can around his shoulders with out causing further injury, presses his open-mouthed sighs into Sousuke’s neck, and rolls his hips downward just as Sousuke bucks up.

“Sousuke,” he breathes, barely a whisper, but Sousuke hears it. He laughs in return and bites a mark against Haru’s neck. A violent shiver takes Haru’s shoulders, so Sousuke holds him closer.

“You’re talking way too much,” he murmurs into Haru’s skin, then curls one arm around Haru’s head in a peculiar way, and Haru should have foreseen this—he flips them, tipping Haru swiftly but carefully onto to the floor from his position between his legs. Haru grunts at the sudden movement, Sousuke cuts it short with his mouth. “Never thought I’d say that to you.”

A gasp leaves Haru’s throat when Sousuke’s fingers dip under his waistband; his hips twitch up, grinding against nothing as Sousuke eases his underwear down over his erection and then drags them down until they catch around his ankles. Haru kicks them away, skin itching for contact as he watches Sousuke shuck his own shirt, slip out of his pants, until they’re both naked on the floor of Haru’s kitchen. Haru, flat on his back, breathes, recenters.

“Come here,” he whispers to Sousuke, who had been positioning himself between Haru’s parted legs with shaking hands. He looks up, attentive, but Haru means  _closer_ ; he grabs Sousuke’s wrist, reels him until he crashes with a grunt against Haru, so they’re chest to chest. Sousuke tucks his face against Haru’s neck as Haru drags his hand up and down the length of Sousuke’s back. He doesn’t struggle when Sousuke takes both of his hands and pins them to the floor above his head.

“I swear I didn’t come here for this,” Sousuke sighs into a laugh, but he shifts his hips so the front of his thighs press against the soft back of Haru’s, his cock heavy beside Haru’s; they both hiss. Haru feels overheated, every inch of him, like he soaked too long in a boiling bath.

“Why did you come here, then?” Haru wonders, getting the question out before his brain turns to fog, wrenching a hand out from Sousuke’s grip so he can sink his fingers into his hair, gripping probably too tight, but Sousuke doesn’t shake him off. Instead he lifts his head, pecks Haru on the chin.

“You’re pretty good company, contrary to popular belief,” he says, and Haru cranes his neck upward to kiss his brazen grin, Sousuke meeting him halfway. Haru doesn’t let it linger, though; he pushes Sousuke back by his other shoulder until he’s sitting, eye brows furrowed. Haru sits up as well.

“Are you in pain?” Haru asks, and he slips his shirt over his head. Sousuke watches him hungrily.

“Yes,” Sousuke replies, then nudges forward so their foreheads touch, crawls like a predator until Haru is pressed to the floor again, underneath him.

“I don’t mean your dick,” Haru says, ignoring Sousuke’s smirk. Sousuke reaches between them, takes Haru’s length in his hand. Haru shudders, his eyes flutter shut.

“I know. I’m fine. Therapy helps,” he reassures him, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his forehead, “and you keep me distracted.”

“Ah,” Haru sighs, suddenly all too ready to let the topic rest as Sousuke starts to pump him, intensely slow, how he knows Haru likes it. It’s Haru’s entire body that trembles into Sousuke’s, his hips buck wildly; Sousuke shushes him, releasing him briefly—Haru whines, the noise pulled out of him—only to resettle himself and take them both in his hand.

Sousuke moves, with a choked grunt loud against Haru’s ear, like he’s fucking Haru, thrusting into his own hand, sliding his cock along Haru’s, hips slamming into Haru’s thighs. Haru curls his legs around Sousuke’s hips, linking his ankles at the small of his back, and he tilts his hips up with whatever leverage he can find. He lets Sousuke grind down on him, and it feels good—so good, that euphoric sensation beginning to crackle like fire at the base of his spine, the pit of his stomach—but the position is awkward, less comfortable and satisfying than it could have been had they been less desperate, or in Haru’s bed rather than on his floor.  

Haru pulls Sousuke in for a kiss, his mouth open and hot against Haru’s as he pants, and Haru snakes his hand between their stomachs, where Sousuke’s hand slides dryly over both of their arousals. Sousuke is still thrusting, impatient, curling himself into Haru. Haru lines them up better—it’s wet, where they’re both hard and throbbing, but there’s still this dragging friction that’s more rewarding than hindering. He presses his hands down against the small of Sousuke’s back, above where his heels dig in, tightening the thrust of Sousuke’s hip into his own. Sousuke groans, breathes his name over and over like a sacred mantra as he moves faster, arms curling under and around Haru’s back and shoulders, holding him close and up off the ground.

“Wanna be inside you,” Sousuke breathes, right next to Haru’s ear. Haru clamps a hand over his own open mouth to keep from embarrassing himself as Sousuke grips his thighs, pushing them back and further apart.

Sousuke nips at Haru’s ear, sucks and kisses down his neck, his hips shake and jostle Haru’s thighs with each slam forward—the sensations multiply together, like synergy, and it doesn’t take much more to make Haru come—head knocking back against the floor, hips jerking, eyes rolling—and for Sousuke to follow with a choked gasp. His hips still shift against where Haru is sensitive and spent; Haru hisses in a strange mixture of pleasure and discomfort.

After stilling, Sousuke slumps, head heavy on Haru’s chest, sticky mess between them—mostly on Haru; that just means he gets another bath. Sousuke’s back rises and falls in time with his breath, puffs against Haru’s skin, and Haru drags his fingers down the glistening length of his spine, staring blankly at his ceiling. He feels like he just woke up again; hazy, but renewed, like morning mist. He lets his eyes close, smiling contentedly.

“When’s your next appointment?” Haru asks, curling his fingertips in the sweaty hair at the nape of Sousuke’s neck. Sousuke picks up the conversation surprisingly easily.

“This Wednesday,” he mumbles petulantly; he’s worn-out, but in a much more pleasant way than he had been when he had first arrived. “Eight-thirty in the morning. Why?”

Haru allows a silence to settle between them before answering; Sousuke is patient. The breeze circulating throughout the room cools the sweat on Haru’s skin, making him squirm uncomfortably under Sousuke’s weight. Sousuke chuckles, makes no move to get up.

 “We’ll move in a sec,” he drones lazily, taking Haru’s hand and kissing the palm, keeping it by his face.

 “Do you normally go alone?” Haru finally asks, and he knows that Sousuke’s silence and the bemused look he gives Haru as he lifts his head from his chest aren’t because he had forgotten their line of conversation. Sousuke smiles hesitantly, eyebrows furrowed.

 “What, you want an invite?” he asks, watching Haru, who had propped himself up on an elbow. Haru’s gaze doesn’t waver;  _yes_  he wants to go with Sousuke, wants to hold his hand on the train ride there, wants to wait in the lobby until Sousuke is finished with his appointment, wants to make him breakfast when they return. Sousuke heaves a put-upon sigh, like, what a burden, and drops his head back down to Haru’s chest. Haru feels him grinning there, and he kind of wants to see it, but instead leans back against the floor, sets his feet on the floor on either side of Sousuke’s hips.

 “Let’s take a bath,” Haru says, pulling on both of Sousuke’s hands. Sousuke scoffs as he finally pushes himself up; Haru half expects a “and this’ll be your fourth one today, right?” but he instead just heaves Haru up from the floor as well, with more force than necessary, making him stumble. And instead of leading Haru by hand to the bathtub, which is what Haru wanted, he scoops Haru up, arms locked just under his ass, and lifts him, all while grinning. Haru, disgruntled, gingerly braces himself on Sousuke’s shoulders, looks down at Sousuke’s upturned face with a disapproving frown. He has both of their come still smeared across his stomach; he gets to be grumpy.

“Put me down,” he demands, but before he finishes speaking, Sousuke’s lips are on his, soft and smiling. Haru almost tells him to come over after every therapy session, if that expression is the result; instead he kisses back.

“Bath,” Haru says, voice hoarse, when they break apart. He hitches his legs around Sousuke’s waist, rests his chin on his shoulder. Sousuke’s hands grips his ass to hoist him higher and hold him as he walks; Haru hopes he knows they’re not having round two in the tub, not under his roof.

“Lugging you around is doing wonders for my bad shoulder,” Sousuke mutters, scraping his teeth against Haru’s neck in a vengeful bite. Haru closes his eyes.

“You started it,” he mumbles, but he presses his lips where his chin had been resting, spreads his palm against the prominent shoulder blade, and Sousuke holds him until they reach the bathroom.

 


End file.
